


unfinished techza god au

by PurplePineapplePop



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Demigod Ranboo, God Phil Watson, God technoblade, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Ranboo is Technoblade's Son (Video Blogging RPF), Trans Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:21:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePineapplePop/pseuds/PurplePineapplePop
Summary: my Discord server
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade/Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116





	unfinished techza god au

_ “Do you remember,” _ would come the questions from those that could. 

And a head would shake every time, pale hair moving fluidly with the motion. It always did, fickle, hesitant. And bi-colored eyes would blink, trying to recount the events, thickening to a red as distress took over, emotions running thick. The brows would furrow and if their emotions were strung up high enough, tears would flow and burns would overtake, sizzling the skin, leaving burns in their trail that would need to be treated before they scarred worse than what was. 

And Phil would strain, attempting to smile, to comfort, but the hurt in his eyes would always overshadow it, never leaving a true smile in its trace. 

How was he to smile when he remembers and his partner doesn’t? 

He remembers the time when he wasn’t Technoblade, when he didn’t have a name, when he was just a being who had rule,  _ Life. _ Back when he wasn’t named Blood, back when he was  _ Life, _ the beginning of beginnings, before those had claimed him to be the Blood God and removed his original purpose. He  _ wasn’t _ the Blood god, not truthfully, it was just a title born from violence, thrown in with cards no one could predict. Life could have never known, could have never been aware of what would happen to him as he aged. 

He could have never known what would be done to him. 

He was Death’s partner, _ Phil’s _ partner! And the distress that had first flowed through Phil as he screamed it at the newly oblivious god, well,  _ that _ had hurt more than Phil wanted to ever hear again. 

(He hears it again, often, when nightmares flash through his mind and he wakes up in a cold nest of feathers and blankets, alone for the millionth night alone. Those nights have more tears than he’d like to admit.) 

He remembers when he’d first opened his eyes, just the size of a child, shivering in the cold as Creation preened the sets of black feathers, aware the newest to their band of misfits would be covered in eyes that could see more than others could process, blessed by Time, who had kissed each eye, gave him followers despite the millisecond that had passed. 

And there was Life, newer, younger than Death. And Time smirks as she shoves him forward, towards Death, who catches the other, frowning as he sees the pink and hears the sad noises at being pushed. They’re younger than Death, pink in contrast to Death’s green, and clearly confused, something so sad to them already. THrow frown and cling to the being a handful of centuries older. In the long run, it will be nothing at all, but, for now, neither know. 

And they grow. Life offers beings that look like them, modeled after gods, and they send them to Death, providing presents. And the two create realms, ones for each other to live in. The presents have their homes and Life kisses Death with love, offers passion that Death didn’t know they could feel. 

But Death watches as Life gets dragged into things, pushed by Time, by Creation, by Love, by Passion, by those he’d created with hopes of blessing Death. And suddenly, Life is no longer happy, crying red tears as they have to take what they’d given too early, forced by Time. He kisses their foreheads and sobs, clinging to bodies that aren’t his own, hurt by having to harm his wonderful creations, hurt that he has to do such a thing to them. And Death pets Life’s hair, kisses the crown of their head and apologizes as those tears burn. 

For the sympathy Death gave Life, Life has to be punished. Creation, Time, and Love see that fit as if Life could control things. The three are jealous, tired of the praise those he’s created gives him, feels that they should be praised for what they’ve done, for creating such things. Love feels as if they should get more credit than they do, a sentiment Time and Creation share. 

THey’re cast down, doomed to be reincarnated while Phil must watch, not knowing it’s Life until a specific moment, the same moment he knows he’s fallen in love with them. 

He goes through a million cycles, so close yet so far away. At one point, it’s even a time in which Life’s son is marrying his adopted own, one that’s painful as Life smiles from beside him, so close to what Life had originally looked like, yet the sadness was there and the ethereal glow had dimmed with a painful life. 

And on this cycle, he knows who is Life when the shapeshifter has a blade to his throat, gaze so sharp as pink hair falls from their face, dirty as they threaten him. And he watches as red eyes stare at him, listens as Life threatens him, and all he can do is sadly say, “You’re still as beautiful as when I met you all those thousands of years ago.” 

They reel back and Phil thinks it’s the last he’ll see of them this cycle, yet they’re constantly there. Technoblade, as he’s named this time around, is constantly there, trying to show Phil things, trying to impress him, trying to do things that Phil can feel hurt him, grating his mind more and more as the pain settles in, the guilt hitting worse. With this cycle, Technoblade is so much more  _ involved, _ as close to Phil as he’ll allow, as loud as can be when he’s happy, affectionate with Phil when he is no one else. It’s just such a staggering difference from so many cycles that Phil’s not willing to look a gifted horse in the mouth. He doesn’t dare try to tempt fate, won’t try flirting or anything of that sort. He just lets it happen, lets Fate decide and hopes She doesn’t decide to throw this in his face. 

Love had said once they got the appreciation they deserved, they would break the cycle. And Phil hopes that’s soon as he sits in the middle of Technoblade’s living room, watching as the man sits in the nestle of blankets along the floor, some sort of nesting instincts that Shapeshifters had, an instinct modeled after Phil’s nesting instincts, abilities modeled after the gods, a mixture of all. It’s only fitting that that’s what Technoblade is now, that Life has become a creature he was so prideful of, showing off to anyone who would listen. 

Pink eyelashes flutter as Techno sits down properly, swamped in his large cape, so tired. He’s just calmed Ranboo down from a panic attack, so gentle with his son, so gentle with him in a way Phil wishes he could have been with Wilbur, with Tommy, with Tubbo. But Techno puts it to shame as he swipes through a book, his left eye pink, right blue, both flitting across pages in tandem. His tail flits from side to side in a lazy motion, bones aching deeply. The snow would do that to a warrior, to a Nether born. 

“Do you know the story of Mooshrooms,” Techno asks suddenly, his voice soft. It disturbs the silence, nonetheless, the fire forgotten. 

“What,” Phil asks, brows furrowing slightly. Techno knew so much about mythology, something his mothers had taught him, he had told Phil. 

“About how they came to be, about… About what it meant when they came to be?” 

Phil hums softly, remembering the creation of Mooshrooms intimately. A slightly blush filters onto his cheeks as he remembers hands against his own, calloused from a life of work and passionate. Techno can’t see it from where he’s at, but Phil is sure he’ll have questions if he could see. “Sort of. Would you mind refreshing it for me, mate?” He asks in that quiet tone that knows means Techno will do whatever he asks. 

_ (“For you, Phil, the world.”) _

“There were two gods,” Techno says, his voice so quiet as he flips a page, though Phil knows he isn’t reading from it, “and they were destined to be together, ironically so. Life and Death, after all, oppose each other. One is welcoming, the other… Not so much, though it depends on who you ask to get which answer.” 

“Which do you think is which?” Phil asks curiously. 

Techno hums, expression neutral, betraying nothing. After a moment, he says, “I don’t think…. I don’t think Death would be unwelcoming at all. If they truly intend for there to be an afterlife, certainly they want to have those worthy of it have a comfortable eternity, right? But Life is just throwing everyone into this, into things that they shouldn’t be thrown into. Tommy was only eleven when he had to fight in a war. I was twelve and Wilbur was fifteen, even Tubbo was only eleven. None of us should have been fighting a war that adults were. Sapnap, Karl, Quackity, especially Fundy. Fundy was only a few years old, he should have never seen any of it, but he did.” His brows furrow and it’s clear he’s considered this before. “I believe… that maybe Life was the villain of the story and Death could have been the hero.” 

“How was Life the villain if Death was who caused his fall?” 

Techno pauses, just breathing softly. His hand slowly raises, getting inspected by sad eyes. His voice softly admits, “I don’t think it was like that, Phil,” in the tiniest of voices Phil has ever heard from the loud shifter. Sad eyes turn towards him, showing to a world of hurt that looks so closely to Phil’s  _ love _ that he feels his chest drop. “Death blames himself for the fall, but he couldn’t stop for a betrayal that was inevitable, could he? He wasn’t Time, nor was he Fate. Fate saw it and never tried to warn Life, even consorted with Time to cause it.” 

Phil feels sickly as he asks, “How do you know that?” 

Techno looks away once more, hand falling. 

The sight is cold in a way Techno isn’t, painful in a way Phil hasn’t seen on Techno since the hybrid explained how Ranboo came about, explained his mothers and their death, since he had held Ranboo through a panic attack that melded with a meltdown after a fight with Tubbo. It’s painful in such a  _ Life-like _ way that Phil pales. 

“Do you… Do you remember how we made mooshroom, Death?” he asks in a whisper, staring at the fire. He can’t see how Phil’s eyes widen, wings ruffling. “How you’d said we shouldn’t do it, that they wre too vague of a cross between life and death that it would make others angry?” Tears simmer in sad eyes. “It made Creation so mad. He said I was made for him, not you. Did Love ever tell you that? Did she ever tell you about the times he tried to convince me to join him and leave you. Did Passion ever tell you about how their final offer was that I fall and have to suffer seeing you but never being allowed to be with you or Creation would destroy you?” 

“Techno?” Phil whispers. 

Tears flow, sizzling, burning skin. 

“There were so many times I just wanted to kiss you and tell you what was happening. I wanted to tell you  _ everything.” _ He sniffles. “Ranboo knows about you, about who you are, about what we were. I told him when he was young and kept asking him about who his other parent was. Even if it wasn’t you, I wanted him to know somewhat.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [my Discord server](https://discord.gg/MyRqq97xHN)


End file.
